To my seven year old self,

I’m sorry. We didn’t make it. We’re still alive, but I hate to tell you that we turned out to be a loser. We’re inching ever closer to thirty, and according to the world’s standards we have nothing to show for it.

I’m so sorry. My heart breaks for you.

You did a good job of dreaming and hoping. You were awesome at believing the best about the future. I wish that was enough.

I dropped the ball. I’m grieving for all the loss you will have to suffer. It’s a shitty uphill climb and I put you through hell the whole way. We have become a number of statistics that are undesirable at best. I can’t say that I’m sorry enough. I really do ache for you.

We do have one thing going for us. Truly, it’s the only thing. It’s not really a thing, but a who.

We still have Jesus. I kinda dropped the ball on that one for awhile too, but He got us back on track. Thank God for Him. I don’t know where we would be if He didn’t pick me up when He did.

He really is a life saver. I have no idea how He is going to move us forward, but I do know that somehow He is going to clean up this mess that I’ve made for you and turn it into something great.

To my 40 year old self, I hope you made it. We really need a win…



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